


Two Meetings and a Reunion

by orphan_account



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, because he needs good things, listen tyelpe needs hugs and friends so i gave him that, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:20:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Healing is a slow process, one made easier with friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Meetings and a Reunion

I.  
He remembers dying.

Celebrimbor remembers having his nails pulled out, the way he muffled his screams by biting through his tongue. He remembers the whips and chains, the broken bones and scars. He remembers the way Sauron would come to him after, with soothing words and a sweet voice Celebrimbor remembers how Sauron healed his wounds and promised, promised, that all this would stop if Celebrimbor would just tell Sauron where the Three were. He remembers the way Sauron would snarl at him when he refused.

(He remembers Saurons’ songs, a voice like honeysuckle and lavender singing with such power it felt as if the cell around them would break. He remembers the way Saurons’ words swirled about him, leaving his body hale and whole while his mind lingered in torment.)

He remembers the tendrils of thought Sauron would send out, the feeling of darkness, of slime and filthy things that trailed after them. Celebrimbor remembers their probing, their digging into his mind to get what they wanted. Celebrimbor considers the fact they never did a small success on his part.

(Nothing teaches how to defend yourself better than a family of broken things.)

II.

People begin to talk to him again. It starts when one of his former Lords corners him in the streets.  
“I never blamed you,” Aeron says, eyes fierce and his grip on Celebrimbors’ shoulders bruising, “He fooled us all. Not one person in Eregion suspected who he was. You were never to blame Prince, no matter what others might think.”

Celebrimbor doesn’t tell Aeron that he blames himself. By the look in his eyes Aeron already knows.

Later that night, he wakes up with blood in his mouth and screaming.

(Aeron died when Eregion fell, body riddled with arrows and left to rot. Celebrimbor doesn’t understand why he, of all people wouldn’t place blame on him. He deserves it after all.

Aeron tells Celebrimbor that placing the blame on him would mean placing it on all of them.

“We were all fooled,” he says, “Does that mean we are all to blame?”

Celebrimbor says nothing, but for a moment his heart feels lighter.)

III.

The next time they meet Aeron mentions that he wants to introduce Celebrimbor to someone.

“She won’t judge you,” Aeron says, his legs dangling from ledge he sits on, skimming the water underneath them, Celebrimbor likes it here in the forest, away from prying eyes and those who want to know more things than he is willing to share, “In fact, I daresay she wants to meet you but has been to nervous to approach.” Pausing for a moment to take in the look on the princes’ face Aeron adds, “I think she’ll surprise you.”

Celebrimbor doesn’t say anything, but somehow he doubts that.  
IV.

Egleril has a scar on the side of her face, going from her ear to the middle of her cheek.

It’s the first thing Celebrimbor notices about her.  
“You know,” she says when she catches him staring, “It rude to stare.” But the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile and she laughs when he begins to apologize.

“It’s alright,” she says, waving a gloved hand in dismissal, “I’m used to it.”

That’s when Celebrimbor notices it. The silver of her hair and eyes, the freckles scattered across high cheek bones, the wide eyes and flat nose.The brown of her skin the only thing telling the world of her Nandor heritage other than that she looks like Celegorm.

He’s staring again he knows but he can’t help it. His uncle never had a child he’s certain, never had a daughter he’s sure unless-

“He never knew,” Egleril confirms later, after Celebrimbor is done staring and the questions in his throat can no longer be contained, “Could you imagine the scandal? A prince of the Noldor lying with a Nandor priestess?” Here she laughs, “It would have been chaos.”

Celebrimbor can’t argue with that, so he doesn’t.

“Where is your family now?” he asks instead.

Egleril shrugs, “Dead,” she says, “You’re the closest thing to a family member I have now. That is, if you want to be.”

Celebrimbors’ heart climbs into his throat at that and he tries not to think of his uncle.

(“We’re family!” Celegorm had shouted at him after Celebrimbor had denounced him, “We’re your own flesh and bone how could you!”)

Family had meant everything to Celegorm, and Celebrimbor had tossed it aside like nothing.

(His heart still hurts when he thinks of it.)

“Cousin,” Celebrimbor says, and the smile Egleril gives him is blinding and for a moment, he thinks of light.

VI.

His mother insists on meeting Egleril.

“She’s kin,” his mother had said, as if that was all the reason she needed to meet her. It was, truthfully, but Celebrimbor was still apprehensive about the two meeting.

Mírelóte, his mother, is elegant, a lady born from common stock, she was a gardener before she married his father and her love for growing things has their home covered in flowers and other plants.

Egleril is one of the Nandor, though part Noldo, her Nandor heritage shines through in the way she dresses and the accent when she talks. Egleril is a hunter, a warrior, who had trained as a priestess for one of the Nandors’ heathen gods before becoming the warrior she is today.

Celebrimbor isn’t worried about them getting along; rather, he is worried about how well they might get along.

Turns out his mother and Egleril get along splendidly.

VII.

He decides to introduce Egleril to Nerdanel next. The decision comes after learning that Egleril never introduced herself to their grandmother.

“It’s not something I thought of,” she freely admits, “I feel as though the less people that know of my parentage the better.”

“You look too much like your father for that to work for long, sooner or later someone less kind than Aeron will figure it out.”

She sighs, “I know just….Old habits die hard you know?”

Celebrimbor knows.

The next day they visit Nerdanel, walking through a garden of statues to her door.

Nerdanel eyes water when she sees him.

“Curufinwë,” she says, reaching out to him, Celebrimbor tries his best not to flinch at the name.

She touches his cheek gently, as though afraid he’ll break before pulling him into a hard embrace.

“You fool,” she says, “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

Celebrimbor has no answer to that, so he pulls away and introduces Egleril instead.

“You look like my son,” Nerdanel says to Egleril, “You look like me.”

(She names Egleril, Calandil, lover of light, before they go.

Celebrimbor tries not to smile at the shock on Elgeril, Calandils’, face as they leave.

He fails only a little.)

VIII.

There are still nights when he wakes up screaming, thrashing in his bed. There are still nights when his mother comes running to his room in her nightclothes, her delicate fingers showing their strength as she holds him down and whispers soothing words into his ears.

(“Your name is Celebrimbor dear, you are in Aman, you are safe, he can’t hurt you now.”

Once his after such a night his mother had told him that given the chance she would rip Sauron apart limb by limb.

“He deserves worse for what he did to you,” she had said, dainty fingers clenched tight around her teacup, “If it were in my power I would tear him apart for you.”)

Once, Egleril is there when the nightmares come. She is the first to reach his room and the first face he sees when he comes to his sense.

She had straddled him, held his arms up above his head and sang to him, until he calmed down.

“It’s an old trick I learned from my mother,” she confesses to Celebrimbor and his mother, “Makes the body loose and limp while the mind struggles to right itself. Not the most conventional means of making one calm down but, well, it works.”

It’s then Celebrimbor feels he almost has a family again.

When Aeron hears of his nightmares he brings over a bottle of his family’s spiced wine.

“I hear a glass before bed does a world of good,” he says, face serious as he hands the bottle over, “Just don’t drink all of it at once, it’ll leave you with a nasty hangover.”

“Speaking from experience?” Celebrimbor asks.

Aeron laughs, “Perhaps prince, but it’d be best to heed my advice either way.”

The next day he makes two more brooches, one made with sliver twisting itself into a tree with emerald leaves at the end. The other is a rod made of gold and garnets, the symbol of Aerons’ house in Eregion.

When handed hers Egleril jokes that he’s trying to make her seem more like a Noldor. Aeron smiles at him, eyes watering, he places his fist over his heart and bows.

“Thank you.” He says and for once Celebrimbor feels that everything might be alright.

(He makes one more brooch, eight stars set with diamonds. He places it wrapped on his grandmothers’ step and leaves.

If he sees her wearing it around town, he doesn’t mention it.)


End file.
